Mma Makutsi pursed her lips. “To begin with, I was not brave enough,” she said. “But then he came in yesterday and I had to speak to him. If I had seen him coming, I could have locked the door and put up a closed sign. But he came in before I could do anything about it.”

“And?” prompted Mma Ramotswe.

“And I told him about his wife’s being unfaithful.”

“What did he say?”

“He was upset. He looked very sad.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled wryly. “No surprise there,” she said.

“Yes, but then I told him that he should not do anything about this as his wife was not doing it for herself, but was doing it for her son’s sake. She had taken up with a rich man purely to make sure that his son would get a good education. I said that she was being very selfless. I said that it might be best to leave things exactly as they are.”

Mma Ramotswe looked astounded. “He believed that?” she said, incredulously.

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “He is not a very sophisticated man. He seemed quite pleased.”

“I’m astonished,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“Well, there you are,” said Mma Makutsi. “He remains happy. The wife also continues to be happy. The boy gets his education. And the wife’s lover and the wife’s lover’s wife are also happy. It is a good result.”

Mma Ramotswe was not convinced. There was a major ethical flaw in this solution, but to define it exactly would require a great deal more thought and discussion. She would have to talk to Mma Makutsi about this at greater length, once she had more time to do so. It was a pity, she thought, that the Journal of Criminology did not have a problem page for just such cases. She could have written and asked for advice in this delicate matter. Perhaps she could write to the editor anyway and suggest that an agony aunt be appointed; it would certainly make the journal very much more readable.

Several quiet days ensued, in which, once again, they were without clients, and could bring the administrative affairs of the agency up to date. Mma Makutsi oiled her typewriter and went out to buy a new kettle, for the preparation of bush tea. Mma Ramotswe wrote letters to old friends and prepared accounts for the impending end of the financial year. She had not made a lot of money, but she had not made a loss, and she had been happy and entertained. That counted for infinitely more than a vigorously healthy balance sheet. In fact, she thought, annual accounts should include an item specifically headed Happiness, alongside expenses and receipts and the like. That figure in her accounts would be a very large one, she thought.